England Dead
by SaiyaPheng
Summary: The disease had spread to England, and for the hope of it not coming was broken. John had a lot more "fun" when chasing criminals, not much when surviving the zombie apocalypse. "I have already knew that there was enough danger when I'm with you, Sherlock! But this, this takes the cake!" A Sherlock/Walking Dead crossover. Maybe Johnlock?
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Ah, right..So, guys? Sorry about for a new story. But I had to get this one out of my head. Sherlock has corrupted my mind! And along with some other things. Sorry, I haven't much been interested in Anime as well and I was hoping to get a better start again with my stories. Sorry for any of you who read them and was waiting for a chapter, I guess you have to wait a bit more than usual. Or go on for further notice. _**

_**SO! On to the new story and please tell me what you think. Should keep on going with this on or not?** _

* * *

_-Bang!-_

_-Bang!-_

The whole flat was awakened from the noise as John walked down from his bedroom and burst into the lounge to reveal his flatmate sitting on the single chair, wearing his sleepwear with John's gun in his hands. "What the hell, Sherlock! Are you seriously that bored again?" John asked in frustration as he took the gun out of his friend's hand. "Sherlock!" the said male, jumped up from his seat and walked back and forth.

"I'm bored, John." He said dully and John rolled his eyes.

"Go to sleep! It's 2 in the morning!" Sherlock scoffed.

"Sleep is boring." He drowned out and then lied on his sofa with a pout. John placed the gun back into the drawer after reloading it and frowned at his flatmate. "I need a case!"

"Well, wait for Lestrade to call! You've just recently solved one yesterday! Have you even check the blog, Sherlock? There has been recent request of cases for you to do." Sherlock made a face with disinterest.

"Dull. Boring. Not interested." the arrogant male engrossed, turning to face the back side of the sofa and curled up his legs to his chest as he lay on his side. John groaned in annoyance.

"Look, we'll get one tomorrow. I need to sleep!" He walked towards the door, but stopped to face his friend who was still lying on the sofa, sulking. "And get some rest, you haven't slept in three days, Sherlock!"

Turning back, he closed the door as he stepped out of the lounge and back upstairs to his room. Slipping off his slippers, he snaked his way onto his bed and pulled over the covers up to chin as he lied on his back. Sighing, he looked up at the ceiling for a few good moments and then shifted to his side, closing his eyes. Sleep pulled him from the world and darkness came.

* * *

The morning was a little better than before. Mrs. Hudson came in and cooked the boys breakfast as Sherlock's brother came to visit. John was sipping his coffee as Sherlock was reading the newspaper. "Would you like a cuppa, dear?" the landlady of John and Sherlock asked the man in a black suit wearing a red tie and carried an umbrella. Mycroft smiled a small smile that was not really reaching to his eyes.

"I may have to deny the tea, Mrs. Hudson. I'm only here for a short talk."

"Then say what you need to say, Mycroft." Sherlock said, sipping his tea, apparently not looking at his brother. John sighed and smiled at Mycroft apologetically. Mycroft frowned at his brother as Sherlock turned the page.

"A dangerous virus is spreading around the world." He said seriously causing the others to stop and look at him, excluding his brother.

"Excuse me, did you say virus?" John wiped his mouth after he almost choked on his jam toast and stared at Mycroft in disbelief. Sherlock was partly paying attention to what his brother have to say. The case would be too easy. Just like any other he solved, it could be just secret companies, smugglers or government based that was controlling the disease.

"The virus was firstly erupted in America." he grabbed the remote from the brown work desk and turned on the telly and changed it to the news channel.

"What does this have to do with England, dear brother?" Sherlock finally asked, irritated and a bit intrigued on what has his brother looking like he lost more weight than usual and the creases on his forehead doubled. John's attention was to the telly, and he blinked his eyes.

"Would you look for yourself, Sherlock?" Mycroft said in annoyance and pointed to the telly screen. Sherlock's eyes inverted to the powered telly.

"-this disease, that was spread from America. Whatever may have happened, this is something that has never been seen in real life. Only in fiction, humans are coming back from the dead and eating the flesh of the living." The woman on the screen announced with a slight fear coming to her eyes. "we have exclusive recording on what had happened in America." Then the scene changed to another city, as screams were made and guns shots were fired. The video was not properly recorded and whoever held the camera, their hand was shaking immensely. The person was running and when the person stopped, the camera was in front showing what had the person saw. A live, rotting, walking corpse that was demented and the bottom jaw was ripped off. Clothes were dirty and parts were shredded, and the skin was dead grey. The eyes is what got John and Sherlock, pure white and signified the little life in it. The camera moved to show other walking corpses eating another. The doctor covered his mouth from the disgusting image. He seen a lot of uncensored things that wasn't impeccable to the normal eyes but this...God. Then the camera was dropped to the ground as a male scream was made and the video was cut. So, the one who hold the device was a man...

"Oh god..." John managed out in shock. "Is...is that real?" He asked, turning quickly to Mycroft. He was surprised to see the older male with a grief face, but as a Holmes, Mycroft quickly hid it.

"It is. Something that we didn't think that will happen in our life time, is now present. The President of United States is in need of our help, but as usual, help is never early enough to pass by. Tourist who are visiting countries have brought the disease with them. Our country and the rest of the world is in danger." Sherlock was thinking of what he saw on the telly. This couldn't be real but it is and Sherlock can tell the difference of what can be made fake or not. The recording was definitely real, but what got him excited was the corpse. There was no scientific explanation to why can the corpse move on it's own or why does it feed on the living's flesh was it can't support the raw meat as the organs are also dead.

"Sherlock!" Sherlock looked at his flatmate, irritably.

"What is it?"

"Did you pay attention to anything that we said?" John asked in exasperation. The detective glanced back at his newspaper.

"No, but you may fill in." He said, reading a headline and clicked his tongue in distaste at it as John sighed. After the breakfast, John walked Mycroft down to the door and managed to ask him the question he wondered when he ate.

"What are we going to do about this, Mycroft? Why tell us when we can't do anything about it?" Mycroft looked down at the man, clearly showing his cold demeanour and as he opened the door.

"Wouldn't you like to know ahead of time, don't you?" he smiled coldly as he headed out and nodded to John. "Well met, John and tell my goodbyes to my brother, would you?" and Mycroft was gone as John stood there confused. Goodbye?

* * *

**A/N: Too short? I think I'm going to keep it at a minimal page of two! Just to get me going better and not just concentrating on how long the story should be!**


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Sherlock BBC or the Walking Dead. I'm just playing with it...

* * *

The rest of the day was fine, there was no walking corpse and people screaming as John would have thought. But there were people talking about it on the streets, cabs and in the restaurants. He couldn't help but wonder what will happen now with the world. There could be a cure but flesh eating zombies? How can anyone cure that?

John was usually for doubting and this was a huge one. He was in a battlefield before, gun shots, bombs, screaming and yelling were all gotten use too. If the disease came to England, everything will be a nightmare and everyone will be dead. Everyone he cared about or...loved.

John shook his head, sighing and tried to hail a cab. It took him a few minutes until he got one and got in the cab. "221B Baker Street." He informed the cabbie and then relaxed in his seat a bit. A short rest until the cabbie mentioned the virus.

"You heard about the disease?" The cabbie gossiped, "I'm hoping that was all fake on the news, man. I would pack my bags and leave if the darn virus came here to England." The cab turned left as John gave a little cough to clear his throat.

"Uh, yes. That would be wonderful if it was fake, wouldn't it?" John winced a bit knowing the truth but deeply inside prayed the virus didn't come at all. The cabbie made a light laugh.

"Hear, hear!" Then the ride was slightly uncomfortable for John. When he was finally at his stop, he got out there quickly, giving the cabbie his money with tip and rushed inside his flat. Closing the door, he slammed his back on the wall and sighed with stress. The ex-army doctor glanced around him, seeing that everything was normal and he was relieved. The whole disease thing has gotten him all worked up. John came back from St. Bart's and it made him tensed. He excused himself when Sherlock was busy looking at a dead body for a case he was solving for Lestrade. Straightening his back, he walked up the stairs to his and Sherlock's flat and opened the door. John tensed when the door slowly opens and only revealed the lounge. _-Nothing out of the ordinary.-_ The doctor thought, sighing. Walking inside, he looked around a bit casually and then he heard a crack behind him.

John turned around quickly, and ready for who or whatever was behind him. His cautious face relaxed when he saw Mrs. Hudson a bit surprised and jumpy with a timid smile. "Mrs. Hudson-" he said and smiled in relief, "It's only you."

She smiled back, "Ah, sorry, dear. Are you alright?" She asked in worry when she saw his face before. "You look a little stressed."

John shook his head, "I'm fine. You know how it is when you work with Sherlock. It's nothing." he reassured her, well, he at least tried to. Mrs. Hudson didn't believe him though but she didn't pushed it.

"Well, alright. I'll be out for the day, so if there's any trouble, call me or the police." she walked out the door after John nodded. "Have a good day, dear!" She waved off, wearing her coat and carried her purse, and then she was off. Hearing the door close, John slugged his shoulders, taking off his coat and placed it on the coat rack. He went to the kitchen and made some tea to calm his nerves.

And it was almost evening...he should probably get some takeaway for dinner.

* * *

Sherlock came back later at midnight, slamming the door when John was on his way up to his room and was startled by the sudden male that barged in angrily. "Sherlock-"

"Not now, John!" The consulting detective cut him off, stomping up the stairs as he took off his coat and scarf and aimlessly hung it on the rack. John blinked and glanced at the door and back to the lounge where Sherlock disappeared in. It was best to leave him be then. John nodded, agreeing with his mind and walked upstairs for bed in his nighties.

* * *

John woke up to no noise. He got up from his bed, seeing it was early morning and the sun was up. Still groggy, he glanced around and he did not had a good feeling at all. His instincts told him to be cautious and be guarded with a weapon. His gun was in the lounge and all he had was a lamp on his side dresser table near his bed. John heard no small sounds at all and usually he would hear Sherlock walking around, doing his experiments or playing his violin. He stood up and listened for a good ten minutes.

Listening to nothing, he stepped forward but then heard a moan near his door. John's eyes widens. It wasn't a satisfied moan either, it was more...dull and in agony of sorts. Like someone was dying. He got to his lamp, unplugging it and held it up near him, ready to strike when he slowly went to open the door. His left hand near the knob and slowly turned it. The door creaked quietly and John picked threw the small opening. Out in the hall was nothing. He saw no one.

Sighing, he stepped back a bit. _-God, I'm getting paranoid!-_ he thought, shaking his head as he dropped his armed side down and opened the door completely. John walked out of his room to go to the bathroom but only was to be knocked down with someone on top of him. His eyes widens to see Mrs. Hudson snarling at him like an animal and with blank dead eyes. She opened her mouth and tried to bite him but he still had his lap and place it in front of him to block her. John grunted as she was still persistence to get a bite and he shouted, "Sherlock!" he called for his flatmate, but mostly placed his attention to the undead Mrs. Hudson. He called Sherlock again but nothing. For five minutes, he finally got his strength and pushed his landlady off of him and got up quickly with the lamp in his hands. "Mrs. Hudson, I don't want to do this!"

John raised the lamp high up as the undead stepped towards him, growling and mouth opened. Before the doctor struck, a loud gun shot was made and Mrs. Hudson stopped moving and fell to the floor. John's gaped down at her and back up seeing Sherlock with the ex-army doctor's gun looking at their deceased landlady that was shot in the head. "Sherlock!" his flatmate looked at him and John was either happy or angry to see him. He had such atrocious timing! He could have came earlier when John was on the floor keeping that...thing away from himself! The detective walked up the dead body and studied it closely.

"Interesting..." Sherlock muttered and moved around the rotted body. "She was bit deeply on the right arm when she came here. Didn't have time to call for the ambulance or us. Lost minimum amount of blood. Been dead since 2 in the morning and came back as the undead. She went to pick an old friend from the airports, and her friend was infected. Probably scratched when he boarded the plane. Then he became sick, and turned, biting her on the arm." John moved closer as Sherlock inspected his shot. "Mostly to be stopped if shot in the head. All organs are dead and yet the brain is the main source to keep them moving." Sherlock made a face, he should have kept their landlady alive to examine her a bit further on the activities of the undead. Well, there was always others.

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**A/N: Oh god. If Sherlock or John wasn't in character. I am horribly sorry. Dx But...this is a fanfiction...so I can twist it around a bit, right? Right? o.o **

**Please, review. :)**


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